


A Thimble Full of Whiskey

by hummingbird_salt



Series: Borrower!Faraday [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Borrowers Fusion, Gen, borrower au, borrower!faraday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-18 18:21:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14219004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummingbird_salt/pseuds/hummingbird_salt
Summary: His eyes travel upward, roaming over the vast expanse of the man's body. High above him, two piercing eyes meet his own, obscured by shadow but unmistakable in their focus. Pinned under the gaze of the towering man, he feels his stomach lurch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... here's my alternate version of an already alternate universe. :P Much as I love borrower!Vas, I thought it would be fun to switch up the dynamic. Hope you enjoy!

 Faraday lies shivering on the ground, his side bruised and his ankle twisted.  He curls in on himself, tight as can be, unwilling to give up the slightest bit of warmth. One little slip and here he is, hating his lot in life more than ever.

Just over a week ago, he'd been on a far more encouraging path.  Tucked away in a stranger's saddlebag, he'd been hoping to find someplace better to live, or at least, someplace better to survive. Living a proper life would be a luxury, and folks like him are rarely able to consider much beyond survival.  

The man whose bag he'd stowed away in had made camp after half a day of riding, settling into a somewhat forested area far from civilization. Night had soon fallen, and after swiping a few morsels from the man's plate of food, Faraday had drifted to sleep on a full stomach. He'd felt optimistic for once, warm and well-fed. 

In the morning, he'd been wrenched from sleep, tumbling out through the opening of the saddlebag. Disoriented, he'd looked up to see the man lifting the bag a bit carelessly in one hand, entirely unaware of its passenger, or the fact that said passenger had fallen out. The man had taken it over to his horse and secured it, preparing to leave.

Faraday had nearly shouted, nearly been irrational enough to gain the attention of the human when he'd realized he was about to be left behind. In the end, all he'd been able to do was watch, heart sinking as the man mounted his horse and rode away.

He'd been stranded, a borrower left out in the wilderness. His mother had told him once about folks like them living out in the wild, how they didn't often last long without the shelter of a human home or the security of leftover scraps.

At the very least, his own pack of belongings had slipped out of the saddlebag right along with him. He'd packed food and water, enough to last him a few days, or longer if he rationed it properly. With nothing else to hope for besides someone else eventually traveling his way, he'd been forced to stretch his food and water over as many days as possible. He'd also built himself a small shelter, using various twigs and blades of grass.

Running out of food had been his first problem. He'd done his best, never eating too much at a time, but it hadn't been easy to resist it with little else to occupy his mind. Next, he'd run out of water, and it hadn't taken long for things to move downhill from there.

He'd decided to wander further than he would normally dare out in the open, to see if he could find something like a berry bush or a hidden water source. But all he found was a riled up snake that didn't seem to like him much—not as anything other than a meal.

He'd scurried away from it and scaled partway up the trunk of a small tree, grabbing his makeshift gun and shooting at the hissing beast. The snake had flinched, hissing once more before slithering off into the brush. Watching it leave, he'd felt a wave of relief, but he hadn’t been able to savor it for very long.

As he'd moved to holster his gun, his foot had slipped down abruptly, losing any purchase it had on the bark, taking the rest of him with it. He’d fallen towards a large rock settled on the ground, striking against stone, hissing at the sharp wave of pain coursing through his body.  

He'd rolled off the rock, remaining on the ground for a short while.  He'd waited for the pain to ebb away before attempting to get up. It hadn't been easy, but he'd slowly risen to his feet, leaning against the tree. His ankle had protested at the weight of his body, so he'd remained slumped against the rough bark, staring in the direction of his distant shelter.

There'd been a rustle in the brush just then, either the snake or some other creature. It hadn't taken him long to realize that he wouldn't be quick enough to make it back to his shelter without becoming some animal's dinner. He'd also known that, without any food or water, there wasn't much worth going back for.

So he'd remained, tucked between a rock and a tree, not moving from his position even as daylight slowly faded around him.

 

* * *

 

Covered in the bleak shadow of a cold, unforgiving night, Faraday doesn't have an ounce of hope left.

His stomach is empty and sore, and his body won't stop aching. He can't imagine his life lasting much longer, let alone improving. He curls up in a useless attempt to get warm, shuddering with every breath, occasionally glancing around as though something unexpected might happen. As though the world might actually take pity on him for once.

He can feel himself drifting, body growing numb from utter exhaustion and the biting chill in the air. The fading sensation is almost a relief. 

He hears something.

There's a noise in the distance, slow and hushed, just clear enough to bring him to his senses.  Hooves.  Calm and steady, they strike against the ground.  A horse is nearby, possibly with a rider on its back.

Faraday doesn't know why anyone would be out in the middle of nowhere at this time of night, but he knows what he's hearing, and he knows it's getting closer.

He listens.  The rhythm of his heart picks up speed when he hears the distinct slide and thud of someone dismounting a horse, the sound almost making him wonder if his mind has given way to desperate dreams in the cold, pitiless night. Against all odds, a chance has presented itself. He knows he needs to move, and do whatever he can to reach his only opportunity.

He stretches out, grimacing at the sharp ache that follows the movement. His body is stiff, muscles twinging as he rolls onto his stomach. Pushing himself from the ground, he struggles to a slanted position, trembling as he shifts his knees up for support. His movements are slow and awkward, but he manages to settle himself against the tree, slumping against the base of the trunk. Bark digs into his side, making him wince as his face scrapes against rough wood.  

He breathes deeply, closing his eyes. Exhaustion is already pulling at him, brought about by such a minor effort; it should trouble him more than it does, but he brushes it aside. After catching his breath, he presses on, fingers digging into the bark.  

He stands, immediately aware that he has a problem.

Even with the tree keeping him stable, he can barely stay on his feet.  He trembles, the weight of his fatigued muscles starting to drag him down. His ankle buckles underneath him, and with a pitiful groan, he falls forward, landing on his hands and knees. He pulls in a quivering breath, veins feeling like ice as his arms strain to keep him from sprawling fully onto the ground.

"Sh-shit," he stutters out.

He stares at the dirt underneath him, in disbelief at his own inability to simply get up and make his way toward the only hope he has left. His last chance at survival is waiting so near, practically within reach, but he can't do it. He can't push his body any further, half-starved and freezing, laden with nasty bruises and a nearly broken ankle.

He slumps down onto his side, lying in a shivering heap once again.

Noises taunt him from the distance, creating a vivid picture in his mind of someone settling in for the night. He listens close, hearing various crackles and sparks, his heart sinking at the realization that it must be the sound of a bright, warm fire. He'd give anything to curl up next to it, to no longer feel the cold air penetrating his skin, but his body has nothing left to give.

His mind drifts, winding in and out of pleasant thoughts and memories that now seem hardly real. The room he'd slept in as a boy, hidden away under the floorboards of a farmhouse; he remembers how safe he'd felt, nestled in a hodge-podge of fabrics his mother had collected for him. His body aches for that cocoon of warmth from so many years ago. He thinks of fire and whiskey, of everything he wishes would fill or envelop him.

Everything remains as it is, and what he wishes doesn't matter. The stars continue to shine, unconcerned with his troubles. His mind slows, and the passage of time strays from his reach, moving at a pace he can't quite discern.

He doesn't know how long the night goes on without interruption, but the calm doesn't last.

A series of noises snap him out of his hazy thoughts. Several thuds reach his ears, slow and heavy, scuffing through the dirt. He knows instantly that he's hearing footsteps, and his heart skips a beat at the realization that they're moving closer. The steps aren't quick or certain; they move gradually through the area, as if searching for something.

Faraday waits, listening intently as he tries to shift his gaze in the direction of the noise. A cold wind gusts through the trees, rustling small branches, and the howling breeze serves as an eerie companion to the heavily approaching footsteps. Faraday pulls in a shaky breath.  

Across the way, something enters his vision, tall and lumbering, illuminated only by moonlight. It's the silhouetted figure of a man, lurking in the dark like some sort of predator.  He's too distant and shrouded in blackness for Faraday to make out any major details, but when the man turns, a beam of pale light falls over his eyes. They glint sharply as the man takes several steps forward.

Faraday's heart leaps in his chest. The human is headed straight for him.  

Massive boots lift and settle into the dirt, crunching twigs effortlessly under their weight. The slow approach is agonizing; though Faraday would normally be grateful for the unhurried pace, his current state impedes him from taking advantage of the extra time. He can only await the inevitable, each footfall sending an unpleasant prickling sensation down his spine. The man strides casually toward his prone form, and Faraday's heart thrums hard against his tender ribs.

The pounding boots come to a standstill, stopping right in front of him. He hardly dares to breathe, his muscles clenching tight under his skin.  

His eyes travel upward, roaming over the vast expanse of the man's body. High above him, two piercing eyes meet his own, obscured by shadow but unmistakable in their focus. His stomach lurches.

He doesn't want to cower, doesn't want to succumb to the pigeon-hearted instincts he's seen in others of his kind. But when the two legs stretching far above him bend, and the man crouches down, Faraday can't help the way he flinches. Everything in him is screaming to run, but he can hardly move.

The rest of the world disappears from sight, blocked out by the man looming over him. Faraday's mouth goes dry. His eyes shift rapidly, uncertain where to look in the overwhelming multitude of details filling his vision. Large, imposing hands resting on top of the man's knees, boots twisting in the dirt, buttons trailing up high, a sash hanging down low. No human has ever seemed quite so _big_ before.  

He hesitates to look at the man's face, though he doesn't have much choice. Forcing his eyes upward, he nearly flinches again.  This is what he's avoided all his life, what he's never been willing to take a chance on.  He wishes he could stand and put up a front, but all he can do is stare in petrified silence.

Their eyes meet again, and Faraday is struck by a puzzling detail. With his mind in such chaos, he hadn't fully observed the man's eyes; they're clearer to him now, not glinting from the shadows but appearing in great detail, dark in color, settled under two thick brows. What stands out to him most is the expression he finds, or rather, the _lack_ of any expression he would've expected.

This human doesn't seem shocked, doesn't even seem fazed at the discovery of a man so much smaller than he is. He looks perfectly calm, as though nothing has struck him as being out of the ordinary.

Faraday swallows down against a lump forming in his throat.

His mother had taught him a lot of things, in their short time together. How to stay out of sight and keep quiet, how to collect and create, how to survive. Sometimes she would show him, sometimes she would tell him, teaching him skills and warning him of countless dangers. He'd asked her once, how she knew that humans were so dangerous if she'd never even been seen by one.

Stroking his hair tenderly, she'd answered him, looking sad. She'd told him stories, some she'd heard from others and some she'd seen for herself, of what happened to borrowers who were discovered. Captured, hurt, treated like animals. She told him that there were all sorts of humans, who behaved in all sorts of ways, but she'd never known one to treat a borrower with any amount of kindness.

Then she'd looked at him sternly, the way she always did when she wanted him to remember something. She'd said the only difference worth considering between one human and another was the strength of their mind. Some were more observant, and some had more knowledge than anticipated.

 _"There are big folks out there, who know we exist,"_ she'd told him. _"And know the sorts of places we like to hide. Never let 'em find you, darlin'."_

Dread twists in Faraday's belly; he's almost certain he's gone and done exactly what she'd warned him not to. He's been found, not only by a human but by one who isn't astonished by his existence. He isn't anything to marvel at, just something of interest found lying in the dirt. To keep, to hurt, to sell... he doesn't know which, but he's far from eager to find out.

Setting his gaze firmly on the ground, he braces himself for whatever misfortune is about to make itself known. A whole slew of unpleasant scenarios flood through his mind, each of them crueler than the last. But even with his thoughts racing through so many possibilities, he isn't prepared for what he hears next.

"Don't worry," a voice rumbles out from above, soft and low. "I promise I won't hurt you."

Eyes narrowed in confusion, Faraday looks up, and what he sees doesn't leave him any less baffled. The eyes staring back at him are warm and gentle, just as unexpectedly comforting as the human's words. He doesn't know what to make of it, or how to respond, but the supposed kindness of the man crouched over him does nothing to put him at ease.  

A sudden shiver jolts throughout his body, making him curl in tight. As his fingers dig into his shirtsleeves, the man makes a noise above him, sounding concerned.  

"You must be freezing," he says.

Faraday feels a strong urge to snark at the pointless observation, but a combination of his vulnerable position and his body's relentless shuddering deter him from doing so. He hears the man let out a sigh. His heart stutters in his chest when one of the hands resting high above him shifts down slightly.

"You won't like this," the man says, as if Faraday doesn't already detest everything about his current situation. "But if I leave you out here, you won't make it through the night..."

Frowning, Faraday looks up at the man, feeling an immediate wave of panic when he sees a massive hand reaching in his direction.

Without thinking, he pushes against the ground, instinctively trying to scramble away. His muscles protest at the sudden motion, stiff and sluggish, aggravated by the sharp throb of his injuries. He can hardly manage more than an inch, shuddering so violently. His heart picks up speed, beating hard and fast against his chest, feeling like it might burst its way out.  

At his distress, the hand pulls away slightly, but it isn't long before it resumes its course. Faraday continues his useless scrambling, hands shoving desperately at the dirt, his hurried breaths edging on hysterical as the hand closes in around him. Vaguely, he registers deep, soothing noises emitting from above, and words of reassurance he's in no state of mind to comprehend. The man's voice is hushed and gentle, but his efforts to calm Faraday aren't enough when paired with his actions.

Fingertips press into Faraday's back, and a thumb settles on his chest, hardly putting any pressure on him but easily overpowering his struggles. He twists around weakly. Long fingers curl and maneuver him into the man's waiting palm, and his stomach clenches tight at the sensation of being handled so effortlessly. He ends up flat on his back, surrounded by rough skin.

Shaking from more than just the cold, he stares up at his captor.  The same perplexing kindness is settled in the man's eyes.

The hand cradling him lifts off the ground, pulling him up near the man's chest. Faraday shuts his eyes and tries to focus on his breathing, one of few small actions still left in his control.

"It's okay," the man says. Now held so near, Faraday can practically _feel_ the low rumble of his voice. "I need to get you warmed up, but I'll put you down soon."

 _Put me down **now**_ , is Faraday's only thought, but he can't summon the energy to demand it. Even if he could, the mere mention of warmth already has part of his mind betraying the rest, so desperate to escape the relentless cold.

There's a soft noise from below, like something being untied, and he opens his eyes just in time to see a large mass of fabric hovering over him. He startles a bit, shoulders tensing, but all the man does is lay the fabric gently on top of him. Blinking in surprise, he surveys the frayed material surrounding him, slowly recognizing it to be the man's sash. It's big enough to count as several blankets to someone his size, and despite everything, he can't help the relief he feels at the sight of it.

He's so relieved that he almost doesn't mind when the man lifts him with his other hand, just briefly as he tucks the fabric underneath him, bundling him up. Shivering, he curls eagerly into the enveloping warmth, trying not to think about the fact that he's settling himself right into the man's palm.

While he doesn't understand the way the human is treating him, his body knows it can't stand the cold any longer. Exhaustion is crashing down on him, overwhelming his senses. It's all wrong, relaxing into the situation so easily. To go down without a fight should be out of the question, but at the moment, it's damn near impossible to resist.

He's cold and tired, weak from hunger, and the sash wrapped around him feels better than anything he's felt in a while.

As Faraday cozies himself, the man stands to his full height, just slowly enough that it doesn't cause Faraday's belly to twist itself into a knot. Over the years, he's hidden in various purses and saddlebags, gradually becoming used to the way his stomach drops when he rises in one swift motion. But the man is careful, moving in a way that Faraday barely notices in his state of fatigue.

The man begins walking, and the world sways with each footfall. A new weight rests over Faraday, not at all forceful, but heavy enough to make his tired eyes flutter open.

Reluctantly, he shifts his head a bit to peek outside the warm cocoon of fabric, and sees a glimpse of the man's other hand. It's placed gently on top of him, holding both him and the heat in more securely. The attentive gesture doesn't make sense to him, only bringing about a moment of drowsy confusion as he slips back into the folds of the sash.

Hardly anything makes sense to him now, and hardly anything feels right. He's nestled comfortably in the hands of a human, a mouse caught in a lion's paws. There's nothing he can do about it, though his caution is still present in the back of his mind, insisting that he do _something_.

Instead, his need for rest and warmth pushes him further toward slumber, an irresistible temptation. He curls up tight, burrowing into the sash and finally breathing steady without the interruption of a shudder.

As the man returns to his camp, Faraday recognizes the sound of fire, the pleasant crackles soothing him even more. Whatever doubts or fears are in his mind, they aren't enough to overcome his exhaustion or the calming nature of his surroundings. Without another thought, he allows everything to fade, letting himself fall rapidly to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Faraday wakes, head muddled as his eyes search through the darkness.

He blinks in tired confusion, mind not fully caught up with the rest of his body. There's warmth all around. Stretching out, he can feel seemingly endless swaths of fabric, a bit rough against his skin, like most fabric. His hazy thoughts drift again to the makeshift bed his mother had crafted for him.

The pleasant memory is shortlived, interrupted by the return of other, more recent memories. He jolts up. The fabric wrapped around him, pressing in from every side— the sash.  

He needs to get the hell out of here.  Christ, he could punch himself for letting a little thing like warmth distract him from the danger of his predicament. All but caged by a human who knows too much, he can't afford another idle moment.

His hands roam through the expanse of the rolled up sash. When he doesn't find an opening within reach, he crawls forward, wincing at the soreness in his ribs and ankle. His body is still weak, but now somewhat rested, he's managing better than before.  

Eventually, he finds the faint glow of firelight, and he can feel the cool night air against his skin. Knowing the man's eyes might be on him, he lifts the material slowly, peering out to see his position.

He and the sash are settled on a large rock. Sitting on an adjacent rock is the human, leaning forward as he cooks something in a pan over the fire. The scent of food wafts in Faraday's direction, making his unfed belly clench tight as his mouth waters. He's so hungry it hurts, but he can't allow for any more distractions. With the man's attention elsewhere, he knows he needs to move quickly.

With one deep breath, he crawls through the opening in the sash, heading toward the edge of the rock. The hard texture of stone is unwelcome on his hands and knees, but his throbbing ankle discourages him from standing. Practically dragging his left foot behind him, he moves forward, biting back a sharp hiss.

He doesn't know where he's going, but his instincts are screaming at him to get out of sight. If the human doesn't know where he is, Faraday may have time to develop a real plan—one that doesn't involve his capture or being left alone in the wilderness again. As he nears the rock's edge, he spots movement out the corner of his eye, then hears the man shifting a bit. He does his best to move faster, limbs faltering a bit at his quickened pace.

There's another noise from beside him, like boots twisting in the dirt, and Faraday startles, surging forward in a panic.

"Shit—" He bites out, his voice cut off when he tilts forward, beginning his tumble off the rock.

His limbs flail and his eyes go wide, but he never plunges to the ground; before he can even think to grab onto anything, a large hand swoops down in front of him, engulfing his entire body. He goes still as rough skin presses into him from every direction, and large fingers curl over his huddled form. Heat rises to his face, some combination of anger and humiliation, flaring even hotter when he hears the man speak.

"Careful there, hombrecito." His voice is low, tinged with amusement. "Almost freezing to death wasn't enough excitement for you, huh?"

Instantly, he wants to pound and kick against the strong hand wrapped around him, or retrieve his gun to express himself further. He can't deny his hesitation when he considers what might be done to him in response. One forceful squeeze from the surrounding fingers could do far worse to him than his earlier fall, and he would be helpless to stop them. But then... what does it matter? What does _any_ of it matter if he's trapped with this human, left without power regardless of what he does?

His eyes fix steadily on the man's face, and he glares, deciding to take his chances. Resolutely, he grabs his gun from its holster, pointing it upward as he drives a solid kick into the man's fingers.

"Put me _down_ ," he orders, doing his level best to keep a firm tone.

The man's eyebrows shoot up, and much to Faraday's surprise, he raises his other hand in surrender, nodding at the demand.

After moving his hand to hover over the sash, he turns it until Faraday is upright, letting him slide gradually from his palm. Unprepared to stand, Faraday doesn't last a second on his feet before his leg gives out from under him, and he stumbles, grunting at the sharp twinge in his ankle. Two large fingers quickly curl around to hold him again, keeping him steady. Faraday freezes at the renewed contact, but the fingers don't stay at his side for long, only remaining to help him into a sitting position.   

Now settled, he clutches uncertainly at his gun, wondering just what in the hell the human is playing at. From the moment the man's intimidating figure had approached in the dark, everything in Faraday's mind has been a contradictory mess of fear and relief. Is this all a game, just a bit of entertainment?

The man is staring at him, looking concerned.

"You're hurt?" He asks.

Faraday is in no mood to answer, displeased at the uneven dynamic of the whole situation. He holsters his gun and turns away, gazing at the fire. But the man isn't deterred by silence, quickly moving to another question.

"I didn't hurt you worse, did I? Just now..."

If Faraday didn't know any better, he'd say the human genuinely cared for his wellbeing. But he's been witness to the cruelties of mankind, what they're willing to do to each other. A little life like his can't mean much to them.

Despite his desire to stay silent, he can't help replying bitterly, "S'pose you want me in good condition, then? For whoever you're sellin' me off to."

The man quickly opens his mouth to respond, but Faraday cuts him off.

"Or maybe," he adds, shifting his gaze to give a pointed glare. "You just wanna take real good care of your new _pet_."

In his agitation, he hardly notices the man's brow furrowing.

"Now, I ain't no rat," he continues, a slight growl bleeding into his voice. "But I can't promise I won't scratch and bite like hell, you goddamn, oversized nuisance."

As the words leave his mouth, he anticipates several different reactions, spanning from annoyance to anger, or possibly amusement at a little thing like him having such nerve. But as he glowers up at the man, the only thing that meets his eyes is a look of sympathy.

The man shakes his head. "You're not a pet," he says, tone gentle yet adamant. "You don't... _belong_ to anyone. I just wanted to help you."

Faraday blinks, taken aback.

He understands the words just fine, but it's a bit of a struggle to process them. Had he heard them correctly?

Coming out of a human's mouth, they seem so unnatural, even stranger as he reexamines the man's behavior. He's been trying to reconcile the unexpected decency with his long-held beliefs, seeing it all as some sort of game, a predator messing with its prey. Or, as he'd accused, an entitled human regarding him as nothing more than a possession to take care of.

Now, with another explanation offered, far kinder in nature, he doesn't know what to do with himself. He'd been prepared to go down fighting, to make trouble despite expecting he would likely be punished for it. But instead of punishment, there's reassurance, and dark eyes so tender that he can hardly stand to look at them.

He turns toward the fire again, shifting uncomfortably and clutching at the sash underneath him. Somewhere in his mind, there's a sense of relief, but it's buried under puzzled astonishment.

Slowly, the man slides from his place on the rock, settling himself on the ground. Though Faraday doesn't move his gaze from the flames, he knows the two of them must be eye-to-eye now. It's an odd thing, to be at equal levels, no longer terrified on the ground and gazing up at a towering silhouette. Everything's clear now, in the warm glow of firelight, so calm yet so peculiar.

"I'm sorry," the man says.

Faraday has to suppress a startled choking sound. Even in a night of neverending surprises, receiving an apology from a human is something he hadn't anticipated.

"I couldn't leave you out there," he continues. "You were trembling so much, I didn't think I should waste any time, but... I could've explained myself better. You had no reason to trust me, and I should've given you one before taking control like that."  

Faraday turns his head to look into those absurdly gentle eyes yet again, in disbelief.

"The _hell_ kind of human are you?" He asks, suddenly fed up with wondering.

The man smiles, laughing softly. "Well... unlike most, I understand that the world doesn't belong to me."

Faraday is struck by the words, having thought all humans must feel like the world is their own. How could they not? They're all so big, existing in a place that suits them far better than it does any borrower. Striding through life with ease, uncaring or unaware of little creatures at their feet.

"And you," the man says, pulling Faraday from his thoughts. "I say you're not so usual for your kind, either. Pointing that gun at me-- _having_ a gun." He laughs again. "You always been so bold?"

Faraday blinks, ignoring the man's question in favor of his own.

"My kind?" He asks, wondering just how much this man knows about folks like him.

"I don't know what you call yourselves around here," the man replies. "The family I knew called themselves 'incursores'. They took things, little things, and had a home under the floorboards."

Interest sparks bright in Faraday's mind. Suddenly, the human's complete lack of surprise at his existence makes perfect sense, and the discovery has Faraday even more curious than before.

"You knew a family of borrowers?" He asks, eyes widening a bit.

The man smiles at the alternate term, then nods. "Sí, when I was a boy."

Faraday considers this, and he can't help mentally wincing as he imagines folks his size in the company of a human boy. Through his own witness and a few stories told to him, he's well aware of the rough and rowdy nature of young humans, and how eager they often are to spill secrets. As if sensing his thoughts, the man goes on to say more.

"They were afraid at first, when I found them," he says. "They thought I might hurt them, or show them to others, but... I could see how scared they were. I made sure they knew there was nothing to be afraid of, never told a soul about them."

Faraday's relief grows at the knowledge that the human in his company has been keeping borrowers a secret for most of his life. Strange as the concept is to him--a human aware of his kind for so long, seemingly uninterested in any benefits they might have to offer--he can feel his mind begin to ease.

The man continues. "When they knew I only meant well, they began to trust me, and they let me visit them. I brought them nicer things, good food."

He smiles, and Faraday feels comforted by the warmth in his expression.

"I looked after all of them, and since I was still young, they insisted on looking after me as well."

His eyes drift, distant and gleaming as they seem to dance along old memories. After a moment, he looks back at Faraday.

"You don't need to worry," he assures him. "I won't say a word to anyone about you, either."

He smiles again, such an easy smile, and this time Faraday finds his own mouth quirking up in response. To feel so calm in his current circumstance is something he never would've dreamed, but he's beginning to accept how mistaken he'd been in his assumptions.

For a few moments, the only sounds to be heard are the crackles emitting from the fire and a few gentle huffs from the man's horse. But Faraday's stomach breaks the near-silence rather abruptly, making a noise that's downright obnoxious. The tips of his ears go slightly red when the man's attention falls on him, and he presses a hand against his middle.

The man laughs a bit, though he looks apologetic as well.

"Didn't know you were hungry," he says. "It's good your stomach isn't shy."

Leaning forward, he returns his attention to the pan over the fire. Faraday's senses are overtaken at the reminder of nearby food, lost in the enticing aroma and every hot sizzle. His vision tunnels as he remembers how desperately hungry he is, focusing on the large hands stirring and poking at a meal that can't come soon enough. He sits and waits, still clutching at his stomach.

The man speaks again, interrupting his focus. "I'm Vasquez, by the way."

Faraday blinks a few times as he pulls his eyes away from the food. The man, or rather Vasquez, glances over at him with an expectant raise of his eyebrows. He doesn't know if it's the kindness he's been shown or his lethargic state of mind, but he feels no hesitation to respond.

"Faraday," he says with a nod, earning a grin from Vasquez.

"It's good to meet you. I suppose the circumstances could've been better," he replies, grabbing a plate set just beside him. "Of course, in my experience, a good meal can make up for a lot of things."

He turns the pan, letting the food fall onto the dish. It's nothing luxurious, just a heap of meat and beans, but a hot meal seems like heaven to Faraday's aching belly. He doesn't even try to hide how eager he is when Vasquez sets the plate down next to him, gazing excitedly at the overwhelming mound of food. While he knows it's for the both of them, he can't help his amazement at the size of the portion. Knowing he's been invited to eat it by the human who'd prepared it is especially remarkable, and quite a step up from sneaking cold scraps.

Staring at the piping hot plate of food, it takes every bit of his self-control not to dig in immediately. He sits up on his knees, hands clenching impatiently against his thighs as he waits for it to cool down.

Vasquez stands and walks a few feet away, crouching down to retrieve something. Faraday looks at him curiously, watching as he returns with an object in his hand. Vasquez sits cross-legged on the ground, smiling as he holds the object towards Faraday.

"Thought you might want something from in here," he says. Laid out in his palm is a small travel pack, which Faraday takes from him with a look of surprise. "Something to eat with, I mean. I don't think I have a stash of tiny forks hidden anywhere."

Faraday laughs a bit. He doesn't bother looking for cutlery in his pack, knowing he'd left it behind to make room for other essentials.

"How'd you even know it was over there?" He asks.

Shrugging, Vasquez replies, "How do you think I knew you were here in the first place? When I saw the pack and the shelter, I knew there must be someone your size nearby."

Faraday supposes he should've figured that out, but decides that hunger and fatigue are good enough excuses for his hindered mind.

"I figured I must've scared you away, and I didn't want you hiding out in the cold," Vasquez explains. "I thought I might just call out to say that I wouldn't hurt you, but had a feeling you wouldn't believe me."

Faraday nods, knowing he wouldn't have believed him for a second. He understands now, though, how lucky he is that Vasquez found him. Here he is, sat next to a warm fire and a freshly cooked meal, damn lucky indeed after such a miserable week. He scoots closer to the plate, reaching out to test the temperature of the food, pleased to find it slightly cooled.

He grabs a single bean in both hands, lifting it up to take a much-needed bite. His mouth waters at the taste and feel of it, almost aching at the sensation, and he's quick to take a few more bites. He chews sloppily, swallowing large pieces, somehow feeling even hungrier now that he's begun eating. It doesn't take him long to finish the bean, and he's already grabbing for another as he takes the last bite.

When he's done with half the second one, he spots Vasquez's hand making a calming sort of gesture towards him.

"Slow down," he says, lighthearted admonishment in his tone. "Gonna make yourself sick eating like that."

"'M hungry," Faraday replies, sounding defensive, and also a bit muffled due to the amount of food in his mouth.

Vasquez rolls his eyes, but he makes no further effort to slow Faraday's eating. Fork in hand, he digs in at the opposite side of the plate, seeming eager as well after what Faraday assumes must've been a long day of riding. They sit in silence for a while, enjoying their shared meal. If Vasquez notices when Faraday slackens his pace, deterred by quiet but sharply jolting hiccups, he makes no mention of it.

After several bites, Vasquez reaches over to grab his canteen, taking a long drink of water from it. Faraday watches, suddenly very aware of his own thirst, lifting his messy hands as he looks around aimlessly. Vasquez sees his predicament, and extends the canteen towards him, tilting it slightly over his hands. It only takes a few drops to get them clean, and after a few shakes, Faraday dries them on his vest, leaning to the side to pull his travel pack closer.

Opening it up, he retrieves the nearest thing he has to a cup: a silver thimble he'd acquired several years ago. It's a bit smaller than most thimbles, and it doesn't have any sort of bulbous rim around the edge, making it slightly less awkward to drink out of. When traveling, he always fills it full of water, covering it with a sturdy piece of leather secured around the opening.

He holds it up in request, and Vasquez grasps it between his fingers, lifting it up before carefully pouring water from the canteen. Once it's filled about halfway, he hands it back, and Faraday immediately starts guzzling it down. It's a bit cold, somewhat jarring in a belly full of warm food, but an absolute relief on his dry throat.

Setting the thimble down on the rock, he sighs in contentment. He's still hungry, but it's a comfortable sort of hunger, no longer demanding his attention. He continues gradually, and Vasquez does the same, neither feeling any urgency in the peaceful night.

As Vasquez nears the end of his meal, he turns to dig down into his saddlebag, which is propped against a small tree stump. He pulls out a glass bottle, and Faraday looks at it with far greater interest than he had the canteen. The label isn't visible from where he's sitting, but he's almost certain it's whiskey. When Vasquez takes a little swig, Faraday stares, shamelessly keen.

Vasquez licks his lips, then looks over at Faraday, smiling at his obvious interest.

He huffs out a small laugh. "You want some?"

"'Course I do," Faraday replies, already lifting the thimble up. "Somethin' funny?"

Vasquez shakes his head, taking the thimble from him. "I just haven't been around anyone your size since I was young," he says, slowly pouring drops of whiskey. "Never shared a drink with... you said 'borrowers', yes?"

Grinning, Faraday nods. "Have I shattered your innocent perception of us?"

Vasquez laughs again, deep and full this time. "I think your gun would've shattered it first, if I'd ever had that perception to begin with." He holds the thimble out towards Faraday. "Not so easy to be innocent when every day is a struggle just to stay alive."

Faraday takes the thimble in both hands, silent as he takes in Vasquez's words. They're so precisely matched by his own feelings, and he doesn't know how to respond. Eventually, he settles on not responding at all, turning his attention to the drink in his lap.

He stares down into the thimble, brow crinkling at what he considers a rather small amount of liquid.

"Ain't much," he says, holding the thimble up again.

Vasquez smiles, shaking his head at the unspoken request for more.

"It's plenty," he replies. "Just doesn't look like it because it's all at the bottom."

Faraday just lifts it higher, speaking insistently, "C'mon, Vas." The nickname rolls off his tongue more naturally than he expects, and he has to marvel at how dramatically their dynamic has shifted during the night. "S'just a thimble."

Still smiling, Vasquez nods. "Sí, and it's as big as your head."

Faraday frowns, knowing full well that Vasquez is right, but feeling decidedly unhappy about it. He only grumbles a little, though, quickly moving on to enjoy what he does have. He tilts the thimble, taking a considerable swig.

Several swallows later, he's lying contentedly on the sash, giggling away with Vasquez at nothing in particular. Through the night, their conversation has drifted over various topics, with Faraday recounting several of his more harrowing experiences, and Vasquez describing more about the family of borrowers he'd known. They laugh and drink, enjoying each other's stories.   

Vasquez rests languidly against the rock, eyes blithe and hazy, gleaming in the firelight. Head relaxed in one hand, he reaches forward with the other, prodding clumsily at Faraday's holster. This earns him a slightly irritated swat.

"What d'you want, ya giant menace?" The words are mumbled out grumpily, though there's no real heat in Faraday's tone.

Vasquez pulls his hand away.

"Were you really gonna shoot that gun at me?" He asks, smiling in a way that suggests he's comfortable with whatever answer he receives.

Faraday snorts. "I was mad as hell, and if you'd riled me up any more..." He lets out a short, dry laugh. "I mean, it only woulda' stung a little."

Vasquez laughs as well, and Faraday grins, a pleasant warmth filling his chest. There's been a growing sense of easygoing companionship between him and Vasquez; it's something he isn't accustomed to, not only with humans but other borrowers as well.

Content enough on his own, he never sticks around one place for very long, free and untethered by close relationships. There's not much point to it, he reckons, getting too comfortable in someone else's company when the chaos of the world could strike at any time. But as he looks up into the night sky, the friendly presence of Vasquez at his side, he thinks perhaps he sees the appeal.

Then again, that might just be the booze talking.

Frowning, Faraday looks into his now-empty thimble, quickly deciding he needs more to drink. He rolls it towards Vasquez, who responds a bit sluggishly, barely managing to stop it from falling over the edge. After looking at it for a moment, he shakes his head, rolling it back.

As the thimble returns to him, Faraday crinkles his nose, giving it a petulant kick. It skitters across the rock with a high-pitched clinking noise, and Vasquez reacts with an irritatingly mild raise of his eyebrows.

"You're still an oversized nuisance," Faraday growls, attempting a glare. Curled so comfortably on the sash, cheeks red and hair disheveled, he doesn't have much chance at accomplishing a stormy expression.

"Maybe I am," Vasquez replies, smiling a bit. "But at least I'm not stupid enough to let you drink a bucket's worth of whiskey."

Smushing his face drowsily into the sash, Faraday responds, "S'not a bucket."

Vasquez slowly lets out a breath, something between an exasperated sigh and a small huff of amusement. "It's like a bucket to you, and you know it."

Faraday grumbles incoherently into the fabric of the sash for a moment, then lifts his head to look at Vasquez again, narrowing his eyes.

"If you're so goddamn smart--" He pushes himself up into a sitting position. "--Then what exactly were you doin' out in pitch darkness, ridin' your horse around in the middle of nowhere?"

Vasquez looks at him for a few seconds, then shrugs. "Sun went down before I could find a place to set up camp."

"Right, yeah..." Faraday's eyes remain suspicious. "But what the hell were you doin' so _far out_ in the middle of nowhere, so close to so sundown? Smart fella like you oughta know how to pace his travels better."

Not so quick with an answer this time around, Vasquez pauses for longer than necessary before he replies. "Just lost track of the day."

"Uh-huh." Faraday doesn't even try to sound convinced.

Vasquez eyes him warily, then takes another drink. He's uneasy, and Faraday thinks it must be the strangest thing he's ever seen, a human behaving anxiously because of a borrower. But he suspects, knowing that he isn't exactly an intimidating figure, it must have very little to do with him, and far more to do with the subject he's decided to bring up. Not one to easily rid himself of his own curiosity, he presses a little harder.

"C'mon, now," he says. "You ain't tellin' me everything."

Vasquez gives him a long, hesitant look.

Faraday rolls his eyes. "So damn serious. Like I'm gonna go yammerin' all your secrets to every human I can find."

Vasquez laughs a bit at the thought, then stares down towards his lap for a short while. He bites his lip, tracing his thumb over the rim of the bottle.

"Sometimes...humans have to hide, too," he says, looking back at Faraday. “Not all of us get to go safely wherever we please."

Faraday refrains from pointing out how obvious this is, having seen for himself the sort of fear one human can instill in another. They hurt and threaten each other in ways he could never imagine among his own kind, which is one of many reasons his caution around them has never waned.

Until now, that is.

Rarely in his life has he felt so at ease, so free from danger. Though he hasn't even known Vasquez for a day, he feels safer with him than he's felt in a very long while, and his covert method of traveling is more intriguing to Faraday than anything else.  

"What's got you hidin'?" He asks.

There's a slight pause after that, as Vasquez seems to consider how to reply. In Faraday's case, it's a question with several answers, too many to waste time counting. His own list of perils is seemingly endless, more than enough motivation to keep out of sight, but he's never stopped to wonder what might send a human scampering into the safety of the shadows.

Fiddling with the frayed material surrounding him, Faraday waits patiently until Vasquez finally responds.

"I did something," he says. "Something other people think I shouldn't have done."

Based on the phrasing, Faraday doubts he'll be getting anything more specific than that, though it's clearly something significant. An incident Vasquez is far from eager to share, though he doesn't seem to regret it.

"So I'm always running now," Vasquez continues. "Always hiding." 

"From who?"

"Anyone who knows my face." He lets out a bitter laugh. "And that's not a small group these days."

Faraday puzzles over that for a moment, and eventually, his hazy mind is able to supply him with something. In his travels, he's seen posters hanging here and there, rewards offered; he doesn't pay them much mind, seeing as money is useless to someone like him, and he'd have no hope of earning that sort of reward anyway. But more than that, existing in a world where every human is a potential threat, it's of no importance to him how they choose to judge each other. It's all one big mess of danger from his perspective.

"So you're an outlaw?" He asks, unconcerned with the bluntness of his question.

Vasquez just looks at him for a while, and the answer is clear even before he gives a small nod. There's apprehension in his eyes, a striking show of insecurity as he waits for Faraday's reaction.

It's peculiar, knowing that a human cares so much about his opinion. Faraday is both flattered and amused, well aware of his own flaws, and struck by the fact that Vasquez seems to genuinely want his respect. They hardly know each other, yet there's been an unmistakable connection developing throughout the night. It's strange--maybe downright foolish--but learning that Vasquez is a criminal on the run does nothing to weaken that connection. If anything, he can feel it growing stronger, heartened by the knowledge that Vasquez understands what it's like, endlessly stealing away from the world.      

"Well, it's no wonder you found me," Faraday says. "Here we both are, hidin' away from the world."

Vasquez's relief is palpable, and Faraday is pleased to see him smile. He nods slightly, a tired sort of humor in his eyes. "Gets old, doesn't it?"

Faraday nods right back. "It's a damn pain in the ass, is what it is," he replies. "Some days I can barely stand havin' to tuck myself out of sight, over and over..." 

Vasquez hums in understanding, then gives a little shrug. "It's not so bad, though... when there's someone else tucked out of sight with you."

Faraday looks up at him, caught off guard by the words. He'd been thinking the very same thing, but he hadn't planned on vocalizing it. In Vasquez's company, the world has seemed just a little less dark, just a little less cruel.

"Not bad at all," he agrees.

They exchange a smile, their eyes gleaming in the dancing firelight. Silence falls soon after, filled only by peaceful crackles and sparks, the calmness of the night seeming to beckon toward sleep. Faraday bundles himself into the folds of the sash, and Vasquez lays out his bedroll, drowsy contentment overwhelming both of them. They bid each other goodnight, for once not dreading the next day.

For once, they both consider privately, there might be something to look forward to.


End file.
